


The Lost Boy

by yuwinnie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, American AU, M/M, characters to be updated, famous mark lee, normal everyone else, small town AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-03-13 11:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18940006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuwinnie/pseuds/yuwinnie
Summary: It was almost like he appeared overnight.  One day, Grammy winner Mark Lee was in LA weighing 100 pounds and driving a lamborghini and the next, he was in a high school Chemistry class trying to relearn himself and how to get through the public education system.  He didn't think it was possible, until he heard a voice that made music almost worth it again.





	1. one!

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by troye sivans "lost boy" :( (thanks ten)

His hands gripped tighter around the steering wheel, letting the tires glide over the freshly paved highway roads as he looked straight ahead. The mountains were blue, navy blue against a slightly lighter sky.

 

Dark blue light reflected over his face. Messy blond hair fell into his eyes, billowing in the wind that shoved its way through the windows.

 

Wind roared through the windows. His music was hard to hear, near impossible, but he still strummed his fingers alongside the steering wheel to the beat.

 

A sharp inhale.

 

The trees always smelt nice this time of year. Strong, calm, and organic in his lungs alongside the highway. The smell was a mixture of calm and aching nostalgia for the days of summer camp long gone, the way the sun would dip behind the mountains and the lake as the campers and counselors alike lined up for the nightly campfire.

 

Mark Lee inhaled and let the smell consume him, his nerves tingling alongside his hands and his brain ringing with what felt like the after effects of drugs or nerves. Nerves were an odd experience for Mark, he hadn’t experienced the feeling since he was 16 and performing for the first time. It’d been years since.

 

His mom thanked God for his talent. The company thanked themselves. Mark wasn’t sure what part of his success was him and how much of it was the grooming he’d received since age 12.

 

It was a silly question would people still like me if I wasn’t like this. Because: he would always be like that.

 

His dad was a pastor, his mom a good Christian woman. Mark wasn’t sure what he believed in, but he was sure at one point he had danced with the devil.

 

The closest thing Mark felt to religion was the whip of the mountain air and the pull of his heart strings as the number next to the town’s name ticked lower and lower on every nearing exit sign.

 

He could afford any car he wanted with no strain to his wallet, but no car could replace the special place in his heart that belonged to the white pickup truck of his. The familiar scent of his father’s cologne and leather seats welcomed him home every time, and the rumble of the engine never failed to make him melt further and further into the seats.

 

It was fitting. Mark Lee, by far the most famous child of the town Ashton Knoll, had returned home- not by a fancy limo, SUV, or entourage. Mark Lee returned by himself in the same beaten down pickup truck that no one outside of Ashton Knoll knew about.

 

The small town was asleep by the time he escaped from the rolling hills of the highway. The local roadside ice cream store had lowered the umbrellas and turned off the neon lights, while the homes lining the road only had their front porch had lights on.

 

The roads came to him like the back of his hands- he knew where to take the left turn without a second thought and he knew when the paved road turned to brick road and he knew when he was home. His parents’ house was small- much smaller than his home in LA. It was one floor, forest green with a wrap around porch surrounding it. His mom’s red SUV sat in the driveway, his dad’s old Cadillac probably in the garage.

 

He parked across the street, allowing the engine to cut off and the headlights of the truck to cut off as well. He was home. In the first time since he had left for LA, he stared down the house he had grown up in. In LA, Joy had asked if he was nervous to go home.

 

Mark wasn’t nervous. Mark wasn’t even sad. It was what it was: Mark was home, and regardless of how much he worried about his mother or father’s reaction, he couldn’t change it. He reached into the back seat, pulled the navy duffle bag forward, wrapped it over his shoulder, and led himself up the path of stones toward the house.

 

One of the stone’s had his hand print from when he was five years old. Under one of the rose bushes was the remains of his old dog, Macey. One of the stones had his mom and dad’s alma mater’s symbol on it. The stone closest to the door was hand crafted from Japan- Mark had sent it last Mother’s Day, a poor attempt at him not coming home. Mark Lee inhaled.

 

The door opened without a struggle- back home in LA, Mark always made sure his door was locked. His parents didn’t do the same. The house still smelt of his childhood memories- the sage candles his mom burned and the soft smell of the oven baking. It was less child friendly now- nicer couches, wooden floors Mark had never seen before, and framed photos instead of child drawn art.

 

“Mom!” He was engulfed. Renee Lee wrapped her son in her arms, clutching the back of his head with her palm and burrowing her head into his neck. “Markie! You’re home!” She inhaled deeply, trying to produce a memory of his smell. He smelt different now. She stepped back, wiped a forming tear from her face, and kept both hands on his shoulders. “You look so skinny!”

 

She looked different too, though. His mom had let her skin tan over, something she would have never done ten years ago, and had let her brown hair develop soft silver streaks. Her face was still the same round, warm one he remembered, though.

 

“Mom,”. He rubbed the back of his head, letting their hands touch, as he chucked slightly to himself. What could he say? Hey mom, people in LA don’t eat. He was saved from saying anything else as his father bounded down the stairs, presumably from his office.

 

Mark’s father, William, resembled what Mark would have looked like if he could grow facial hair. He had a soft stumble around his thin face and a large sweatshirt on- the merchandise from Mark’s latest tour. “Mark!”

 

He didn’t move as fast as his wife did, but he didn’t take much time either to sneak past Renee and pull his son into him. Over the years, their height difference had decreased then increased yet again, and now Mark was the taller one.

 

“Long time no see.” William pushed his glasses up on his nose, smiling brightly to his only son. It wasn’t an understatement. The only time his parents had seen him had been through the TV, on whatever gossip channel they had accidentally flipped to.

 

“I’m home now.” Mark agreed, smiling shyly to the two people who adored him most in the world. His parents beamed back at him. If his parents weren’t his world, he was there’s: Mark Lee, their long lost only child, home at last.

 

He didn’t want dinner- he had insisted it as his mom still forced at least five cookies down his throat. It was dumb, he had decided, but still chewed happily on them. He didn’t need to talk much- his mom filled him in on everything she knew about the high school and the town.

 

“You should get involved, Markie! I’m sure there’s a glee club or something, or maybe even skateboarding! You love skateboarding!” He looked around the kitchen- the photos of him at the beach as a baby, the photo of him with ice cream dripping down his face while he cried, and the photo of him sitting on his dad’s lap at the carnival were all framed above the sink.

 

He had quit skateboarding when he moved to LA.

 

“Do you remember Jeno? The next door neighbor? He’s sweet- he’s in your grade, he’s the quarterback. You should talk to him, maybe you could last minute join football. I’m sure coach would make an exception for you!” She handed him another cookie in between breaths, putting her hands on the kitchen island and letting her wedding ring knock into the granite.

 

“I’m not sure, mom.” Mark said. He was sure coach would make an exception, but sports had never really been Mark’s thing. He saw her face deflate. “I think a volunteer club would be cool, though!” If he mom could tell the blandness in his voice, she didn’t admit it.

 

His mom perked up again. “Oh Markie! That would be perfect for you!” He nodded, looking down at the familiar counter tops.

 

“I’m tired.” He admitted at last, before his mom could head into the members of the student body at school. He wanted to listen, he wanted to care because she cared, but he couldn’t seem to get his mind out of LA mode- you’re here to get better he told himself.

 

“Oh, ok. Well, your room is in the same place it’s always been.” His mom walked around the counter and placed a kiss onto his cheek. “Goodnight, Markie. We love you.”

 

The walk upstairs felt shorter than ever, his legs longer than before. His body knew the way when he didn’t, stopping and turning into the bedroom where he had spent nights upon nights dreaming of the life he had now. The color was the same forrest green as the outside of the house- a single double bed sitting in the room with his duffle bag on top and a small desk in the corner. His first guitar, a soft colored acoustic, was mounted to the wall next to his first Grammy.

 

Mark fell asleep while staring at the award.

 

☽

 

Being home meant for the first time in years, Mark was expected to attend real high school. He didn’t really want to, but it was a strict condition his father had proposed with the idea of him coming back home- ‘if you want to be normal’, he said, ‘you have to go to school like normal’.

 

So here Mark, Grammy winning 18 year old, was: the senior lot of Ashton Knoll High School. The white pick up truck was still running, the local country station playing some stereotypical love song. His new schedule in his hands, his Supreme book bag thrown over his shoulders.

 

His mom had made him stand in front of the front door and take a photo that morning, something he hadn’t done since age 11. There was no saying no to her: she squealed and ran across the yard, letting her smile overtake her face as she held her IPhone 4 in front of her face. A few photos later, and she was hugging on Mark while his dad patted him on the back.

 

“I gotta go, I don’t know where anything is and I don’t want to get lost.” He said, pulling the straps to the red bag tighter over his chest. His mom stepped back and smiled again. Tears brimmed at her lash line.

 

“Dry safely! Have fun!” She waved as he pulled from the driveway, looking over his shoulder as he backed up. He waved back once he got the chance, and drove down the one main road in town until the high school appeared.

 

_Now or never._

 

He pulled the keys from the ignition and grabbed the key chain, spinning it around his hands once, twice, three times before finally pressing a finger to the lock key. A honk later and he was walking in the direction of the front door.

 

**Welcome to Ashton Knoll High School, Home of the Ashton Kings.**

 

His first class was easy to find. As much as he had worried about it, the building was split into wings: English, History, Math, and Sciences were all branches of the main building with the arts were in the separate, older building.

 

No one was there yet, in Chemistry. Mark had done his best to beat the crowd. The room was derived of even a teacher- only five clumps of tables that could fix four students each. Mark found the first lab table closest to the door and took it, slumping in the seat and taking in the room.

 

Posters of cartoon characters washing their hands and pouring green liquids into vials lined the yellow walls. A few diagrams of the planets hung from the ceiling, with another poster of “RIP PLUTO” hanging in the back. It felt like how a classroom should have felt, if Mark knew anything about high schools.

 

He’d seen the movies and TV shows of what high school was- the uniforms that were too short (he went to public school, they didn’t wear uniforms) and the cute jocks and the preppy cheerleaders who walked around school in their cheer uniforms. This didn’t feel like a movie, though.

 

Mark got lost in his thoughts- his mind finding itself somewhere between his LA apartment and the way his manager told him he should “take a break”. He didn’t want to take a break at first, a break meant less money pouring in. A break meant one less shot of getting another Grammy to make up for Holidays missed with his family. To Mark, a break meant weakness. Mark did not have weakness.

 

His thought train was interrupted when the first student walked in the door. A boy about his age with a lazy but genuine smile and a black Justin Bieber haircut came into the room, wearing a large blue jersey and fitted black jeans. A girl held his hand and had her other hand around his arm. The boy’s lazy smile faded, but quickly returned. “Hi!”

 

He shook the girl out of his grip and strided over, taking the seat next to Mark. “My name is Jeno, I’m on the football team.”

 

If he did know who Mark was, he was good at disguising it. Maybe he didn’t care. His girlfriend didn’t seem to get the hint, however, as she stood before Mark. “You’re Mark Lee.” She scoffed, pulling slightly at the tight sweater she wore.

 

“That’s me.” He sounded harsher than he meant to, his throat still congested with sleep. “We used to live next to each other, well, we do again I guess.” He tried to make his voice as light as Jeno’s, turning to him and trying to press a smile to his face. He was good at that- making himself smile.

 

“Yeah! Your dads the pastor, right? Your mom is a doctor?” Jeno leaned in casually. Mark tried to sneakily scoot his chair back. Jeno’s voice wasn’t edging in want- his smile and light tone surprised Mark.

 

Mark nodded. “Why’d you come back from LA? Aren’t you like, a millionaire?” The girlfriend snapped, not in the same tone of genuineness. Jeno ignored her, not even batting an eyelash. Mark tried not to scrunch his face too much and tried to keep the smile a little longer, but it was getting harder.

 

“I’m going back.” He started. “I just- I’m only eighteen once, you know?” His voice betrayed him, but Jeno didn’t seem to question it. The girlfriend scoffed, and opened her lip gloss coated mouth to begin to speak, but he was cut short by the ringing of the bell.

 

Mark’s mouth opened into an ‘O’ as he looked between the two: he didn’t know schools actually did that.

 

“I have to go now, Jeno.” The girlfriend batted her lashes. She stood there, waiting for something that never came. “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?”

 

Jeno didn’t move a muscle, rather he relaxed into his seat and threw his book bag back onto his side. “I don’t want to mess up your makeup.” He smiled gently, but the silent scream in his eyes betrayed him. The girlfriend didn’t seem to notice, as she rolled her eyes and strutted from the room.

 

“I’m sorry.” Jeno whispered to Mark. Mark just nodded, it wasn’t really a big deal. He was used to it. “You should try out for football!” He whipped to Mark, his smile returning.

 

“No way in hell.” Mark returned. It was hard to, though, Jeno had big puppy dogs and had been nothing but nice to Mark of all people- he didn’t really deserve it.

 

“Why not?”

 

Mark shrugged. “My moms a doctor, you know, she’d be worried about head injuries and shit.” It wasn’t true, but unlike his previous lie it wasn’t apparent. Jeno nodded along like he understood, before waving hello to one of the other students in the class.

 

Everyone seemed to know Jeno and not in the same way that everyone seemed to know Mark- Jeno knew everyone’s names and their summer plans and their plans for after high school. He sent the same genuine smile in everyone’s direction, nodding in agreement when anyone complained about summer jobs or vacation coming to an end. “Hey! At least we have football!” He said to the last boy, who only rolled his eyes and returned Jeno’s smile. The boy shot Mark a look- a knowing, skeptical look- before he slid past their table to find an open seat in the room.

 

“This is my first day of high school.” Mark felt the need to admit to Jeno once the crowd by their desk had finally settled. It came out in a fit of excited, nervousness, one that Mark instantly bit back. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t in LA anymore- here, people actually felt things. His doctor had told him he needed to be allowed to feel things.

 

“I know.”

 

“What? How?”

 

“Mark, you’re really well dressed. No high schooler is that well dressed.” Jeno took one look up and down at Mark. Mark did the same, lowering his head. He wasn’t that well dressed- not even well dressed by LA standards. Jisung Han would have roasted the hell out of him for his poor fashion taste- ripped black jeans with a tucked in white button up and red vans. His mom had helped him pick it out last night. His hair was still blond from his last music promotion period, the edge of his black roots starting to peek through.

 

“You look better than I do.” Mark shot back to Jeno, cautiously picking at the material of his jersey. His smile didn’t feel forced at this point. Jeno rolled his eyes, but turned to the teacher who had entered the room.

 

Welcome to Senior year, Mark Lee.


	2. two!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is purely based on my beliefs that young children who don’t have a solid sense of self should not be put into the harsh entertainment industry. Due to this factor, Mark is lacking in confidence.
> 
> ALSO--- if I created a playlist on youtube, would anyone listen to it? I have one I really like on spotify, but it’s my personal account :(
> 
>  

Mark Lee was lost.  Not in the type of lost he got in the crowds of those big award shows, or the lost he felt when he couldn’t remember what exit was to the closest In-N-Out, Mark Lee was actually lost.  In a high school short of 300 people, Mark Lee had somehow managed to lose himself in the simple directions Jeno had given him to the lunch room. 

  
  


The hallways were empty by now.  The tardy bell for the first lunch shift had rung and everyone was either in class or at lunch and Mark was left alone in the hallway.  It wasn’t even like he needed to eat- he didn’t eat back in LA- but the humiliation of getting lost was past him.  _ Dumb  _ he thought to himself, trying to imagine what his friends back home would say.  

  
  


Jisung Han would have probably called him stupid, his manager would have muttered something about incompetence, and the rest of the friend group would have just laughed in agreement.  They would have been right, Mark felt like a dumbass- just wandering down the single hallway trying to remember which building the lunch room was even in. 

  
  


His chest felt sharp, his breathing coming out more and more ragged as each door began to blend together.  Every step began to feel more and more like jello.

  
  


He wasn’t even sure what wing he was on- he wasn’t even sure what way he had turned when he left English.  His eyes began to blur, his shirt feeling tighter and tighter, as he found the nearest locker and sunk down on it, grabbing his book bag and pulling it to his chest. 

  
  


His therapist had told him to block out the voices, but he wasn’t really sure how to.  All he could hear was the bad parts- the reminder that he ‘didn’t need’ food and that his clothes wouldn’t fit anymore if he ate too much.  He couldn’t hear his own heart beat or the few words he whispered to himself or the sniffles into his sleeve. His knees curled to his chest as he curled his head into his knees and tried to best to breath. 

  
  


“You’re ok, Mark.  You’re getting better.”  He whispered to himself. At this point in time, he wasn’t sure what better meant.  His manager and parents and doctors had huddled together with the word passing between them, but Mark didn’t even know what was wrong.

  
  


_ This.  This feeling was  _ wrong.

  
  


His head stopped spinning.  It came, slowly but surely, and as Mark uncurled himself, he heard it.  

  
  


Mark had spent a third of his life around beautiful, talented people.  Hearing crystal clear voices wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him, but this voice- this voice cleared the congestion in his chest and the spin of his thoughts.

  
  


The voice shook Mark from his own brain- the pain in his chest, the boy’s high pitched notes hitting him in the center of his heart.  If Mark had been standing, he would have stumbled back. He was still sitting, though, and felt a lightheaded rush. This rush was unlike the one felt before, however.

  
  


A breath of fresh air. 

  
  
  


He stood: like the voice was a siren luring him for his death, he followed it mystically before he realized his feet were moving.  If all they doors had looked the same before, this one seemed to glow around the entrance. Just when he was beginning to peak his head in, a stern woman poked her head out.

  
  


“Can I help you?”. She barked, pushing her thick rimmed glasse up her face while looking him up and down.  She was short- maybe 4’11”- but her demeanor made Mark cower.   
  


  
“Uh, I’m lost?  I don’t know where the cafeteria is, I’m new.”. He let out one of the innocent giggles he’d always used to get out of things, but it was apparent she wasn’t charmed.  The woman pulled the door behind her and pointed a jagged finger further down the hallway.

  
  


“End of the hall, on the left.”

  
  


“Uh, thanks,”. Mark said shyly, as she slipped back into the room and slammed the heavy, wooden floor behind her.  He could no longer hear the voice, and like being snapped out of a trance, he made his way through the halls . 

  
  


The cafeteria was found without issue this time around. (Mark had to hold up his fingers to realize which way was left, but that was ok.)

  
  


It was only the size of a gym- maybe it also served as the gym.  Mark wouldn’t know, gym was only required for underclassmen. Circular tables lined the room, built in benches surrounding each table.  The same tight feeling in Mark’s chest began to bud again, spreading slightly up his lungs and wrapping around them- squeezing. A soft, delicate hand brushed his arm.  “Mark!”   
  
  
It was Jeno.  He relaxed slightly, letting his shoulders droop as he took in the sight of the smiling boy.  “Hey, Jeno!” 

  
  


Jeno circled around so he faced Mark.  “Come sit with us.”

  
  
Mark didn’t protest.  He followed at the heels of Jeno- who walked surprisingly fast- as they weaved in and out and in between the circular tables.   Like in Chemistry, everyone seemed to say hello to Jeno. A small girl with a round face teased him about always wearing his jersey, a few boys slapped his back, all the while eyes stayed glued on Mark.  

  
  


“I think you’re more famous than me.”  Jeno whispered to Mark as they finally were heading in the only table they hadn’t yet passed.  A few boys surrounded it- none of which Mark reconcongized. The four other boys all perked their heads up and smiled, however, giving slight waves as Jeno returned to his seat and motioned to the open spot next to him.

  
  
  


“Lads, this is Mark Lee, Mark Lee, this is Jaemin- Na“  Jeno motioned to a tanned, messy haired boy wearing some sort of beaded necklace and an orange- yellow tiedye shirt.  Jaemin waved back and flashed a brilliant toothy white smile. He was attractive, very attractive, but not the kind of flashy that Mark was used too.  “And your senior class president, Renjun-“ If Jeno hadn’t said anything, Mark would have believed Renjun to be a freshman- he had a neat, short hairstyle and a petite frame.  His clothes looked freshly pressed and polished. Renjun nodded and returned to whatever paper was in front of him. 

  
  


“Then Chenle,”  another boy wearing a football jersey perked up, waving energetically while chewing on an apple. His hair was electric purple.   “And Jisung.” The last boy was all skin and bones- drowning in his football jersey. “That’s everyone.” Jeno said with a certain pop.

  
  


“OK, guys, Mark can settle this debate- MarkLee- if someone, say someone really important at our school- say like our senior body president, say Renjun, pushed for a senior trip, we would get one- right?”  Chenle pushed himself forward on his elbows, looking in all directions before he narrowed his intense gaze onto Mark. Jisung pulled Chenle down back into his seat, manhandling him from the side until the purple headed boy finally settled.

  
  


“Chenle, your dad is on the school board.  Why don’t you push for it?” Renjun didn’t bother to look up from the papers in front of him, making a check shape on one before flipping to the second one in the pile.  Mark looked to Jeno who was now chugging down a chocolate milk.    
  


  
“If Yangyang wanted a trip you’d push for i-”  Chenle muttered before being manhandled by Jisung yet again.  A hand was used to cover the purple haired boy’s mouth while a sharp blow was delivered in the side from Renjun, who didn’t even look up.

  
  


“CHENLE!”  The gasp was widespread.  Mark wasn’t sure who said it, but it didn’t truly matter.  Jeno had a smirk on his face, Jisung was stunned in disbelief, Renjun was a shade more red, and Jaemin was playing with the necklace he wore.  Mark couldn’t tell if anyone was mad or if it was friendly banter, but he leaned back in his seat in case the group decided to have a fist fight in the middle of the table.

  
  


“Jaemin or Jeno should do it, everyone loves them.  Jaemin Na- about to save the planet and all the cute animals and Jeno Lee- the football captain and ladies man.”  Jisung inserted. All eyes turned to the two. Jaemin was rather youthful looking, yet handsome like celebrities. Jeno had the ‘All-American’ glow to him.

 

  
“Mark Lee has the biggest following of us all: nine million followers.”  Renjun’s tone was plain, neutral almost. It didn’t come out in awe, but straightforward as a fact.  All the eyes shifted to him, and for the first time since the conversation had started, Renjun looked up from his papers.  “What? It’s true.”   
  


  
“I don’t know anything about school or trips or even student council…”  Mark looked down, shuffling his hands together. The thing was, he was in a battle: he was used to being somebody and nobody at the same time and the balance between it was getting confusing.  He wasn’t used to anyone actually  _ wanting  _ him around, but he was used to the power he seemed to pull.  Jisung Han told him he could change the world with his smile, but Jisung Han also handed him a bag of powdery substance with no afterthought.

  
  


“I’m done with this conversation.  We have bigger things to worry about.  Say, the football game Friday night.” Chenle interrupted Mark’s thoughts.  He slammed both of his hands on the table, the table shaking to the point where Jeno’s chocolate milk almost fell.  Renjun collected his papers and slipped them into his book bag and another quick slap was delivered to Jeno.

  
  


“Bigger things?  Weren’t we 0-and-10 last season?” Renjun clasped his hands together under his face, his eyes twinkling as he stared up at Chenle.

  
  


“Every touchdown is a victory in itself, Injun.”  Jeno raised a fist, only to have it manhandled down by Jisung.

  
  


“It’s a blackout!”  Jaemin informed Mark before taking a bite out of what appeared to be a peanut butter- banana sandwich.  He licked his lips when he finished, smiling a toothy smile at the boys around him.

  
  


“What?”  

  
  


“In the fan section, everyone will wear black and it’ll be super cool and we can all take photos and then go to  _ Taeyong’s _ afterwards.”  Jeno informed. “Well, the football players- Jisung, Chenle, and I will be in our jerseys, but the student section all wears black.  It’s cool.” The table nodded in agreement. Chenle whipped out a phone and showed Mark a photo- it looked like a younger version of Chenle, one with a rounder, babier face.  In the photo, he had black streaks down his face and arms while he wore an all black outfit. It did, in fact, look cool.

  
  


“Taeyong’s?”  Mark raised an eyebrow.

  
  


“It’s this 24 hour diner that serves the best pies.”  Jisung cheered.

 

“They even have vegan options.”  Jaemin informed. “If you’re into that.”   
  


  
Mark didn’t have time to answer before the speaker above crackled to life.  “MARK LEE TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE. MARK LEE TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE.” An obnoxious voice spat out.  If people hadn’t gotten the chance to stare down Mark before, they did now: it felt as if a million eyes were glued to the back of his head.  

  
  


“Uh-”

  
  


“Do you need help finding it?”  Jeno offered, grabbing his bag from behind him and standing up.  He threw the chocolate milk behind him into the trash before Jaemin stood with him.  

  
  


“I want to come.”   
  


  
“Me too!”

  
  


The entire table stood.  Jeno stood close to Mark- close enough to the point where Mark almost felt protected from the eyes glued to him.  Jaemin stood on his other side, fiddling with his bookbag as the group marched from the lunchroom together. 

  
  


“Fuck them.”  Jaemin hissed once they had exited.  “I mean, they do know you’re not an animal, right?  You just released music, damn.” He huffed out, rolling his eyes into the back of his head.  Mark nodded, trying to keep up with Jeno’s pace yet again.

  
  


The principal’s office wasn’t hard to find.  Well, with Jeno and Jaemin leading the way and the other three tagging along.  It was at the other end of the main hallway- surrounded by fake flowers and plant pots. “Have fun!”  Jisung waved, stepping back and pulling Chenle with him.

  
  


“Do you want us to stay?”  Jeno offered.

  
  


“I-I should be good.”  Mark offered back, taking in the door one last time before turning to his new found friends.  “Thank you, guys.” 

The group departed with a choruses of “byes” and “see-yas”, leaving Mark alone with the rustic looking door.  It opened with the slightest amount of pressure, opening to a small room with a large, L-shaped desk.

  
  


“Oh, uh, I can knock-”  Mark turned around in both directions, flaring a pink shade when he met the eye of an older man.  The olderman sat in the chair, typing away on a keyboard in front of him. He flashed a dry smile.

  
  


“No, it’s fine.  Come in! It’s nice to meet you, Mark.  I’m Doctor Kim. Doyoung Kim.” He informed.  Mark stepped into office- taking in the smells of vanilla and the large candy bowl in front of him.  Jisung Han and his manager would have whipped him had he even looked at candy back in LA.

  
  


“I’m Mark.”  Mark save a slight wave as he closed the door behind him.  

  
  


“Oh, I know.  Please, have a seat, Mark.  We have a lot to talk about.”  

  
  


Mark found one of the chairs- a dull grey, ripped leather spinny chair- and plopped himself into it, holding his book bag to his chest and wrapping his arms around it as he looked around the office.  There were two windows, both with blinds fully closed. It was dark almost to the point where his eyes burned.

  
  


“How are you liking your first day?”  Doyoung stopped typing, flexing his long fingers out before him into a clasp on the top of his desk.  His eyes were narrow, sharp as he grazed over Mark. 

  
  


“I-it’s nice.  I got lost.” His sight was set on his hands.  There was a long scar spreading from the bottom knuckle on his thumb to his wrist- one from his day tree climbing and before he had developed a solid sense of balance.  His fingernails were chipped short, a bit of dried blood underneath the longer ones. The knuckle on his left hand was still swollen, slightly. It didn’t hurt as he applied pressure with his right thumb, though.

  
  


“That’s good.”  Doyoung Kim didn’t sound as if he cared.  His tight lipped smile remained on his face, though.  “Have you looked into the possibilities for extra curriculars, Mark?”

  
  


Mark twirled the silver band around his wrist.  “I mean, I still am going to be doing music a bit.  My friend, Jaemin Na, he’s like into volunteering. I want to help him and all.”   The chair rotated when he wiggled his hips into the seat, pushing them back further.  Maybe he’d be able to return to lunch before class started- maybe he’d get a chance to actually talk to Jaemin about the volunteer club.  “My dad- he’s a pastor- I’m going to be helping him with church stuff too.”   
  
  
“Ah.”  Doyoung’s eyebrows lift up but his eyes remain the same void as before.  “Well, Mark, it’s a pleasure to have a  _ celebrity  _ here at our high school.  Just know, however, none of that will be permitted in our hallways.”   His eyes remained fixed on Mark’s as Mark finally lifted his gaze from the brown stain on the tip of his vans.

  
  


“Uh? What?” 

  
  
Doyoung Kim, Principal Kim, inhaled sharpy, a calm yet composed smile inching over his face.   “Mark Lee, you and your schengians are famous. That sort of behavior is not permitted in any way, shape, or form here at-”

  
  


“I-I don’t do that stuff.”  The same dizzying feeling washed over Mark, Jisung Han’s face returning to his mind as he had laughed at him.  ‘You can’t escape yourself, Markie’ Jisung repeated over and over again to him. He heard it now, his palms prickling and the back of his neck tingling.  Mark blinked until the tears had vanished, but by this point he was standing and throwing his book bag over his shoulder.

  
  


“I-I have to get to class.”  It came out as a whisper.   
  
  
“Oh?  Mr. Lee? One last thing-”  Mr. Kim interrupted him. 

  
  


“Yes?”  He turned around slightly, still not meeting the principal’s eyes.   
  
  
“Can I have an autograph?”  
  
  
  



	3. three!

He wasn’t sure how he ended up there, on the floor of his bathroom tub, holding a pair of scissors while balancing the silver hand held mirror between his knee caps. 

 

Snip.

 

A lock of fried, curled blond hair circled from his scalp to the cold, white tile floors. A steady dusting of hair was beginning to build, lining the tile to the point where the floor resembled a sandy desert.

 

When Mark had gotten the blond hair done, Jisung Han had teased him that he might be confused for one of the Kardashians. It looked good, it did, but the face that stared Mark down once the chair was turned was not Mark’s. 

 

The face that stared Mark down in the mirror now was familiar, however. 

 

Bits and pieces of black, fresh hair peaked out the front of his head in odd directions, the longest bits only a mere centimeter long. There was one familiar feature that stood amongst the shreds of hair- Mark’s lopsided smile.

 

☽

“Oh, Marky,” His mom pulled back from the oven, wiping both of her hands on the apron in front of her. It was a gift, from him, from mother’s day when he was 14 and his manager took him to buy something for her after a large melt down. There was a large, green ‘L’ in the middle of the pink fabric with black and white poke-a-dot frilles lining the sides. It wasn’t his mom’s style whatsoever, yet she wore it anyway.

 

Mark stood at the foot of the stairs, where they met the kitchen. His blond hair was long gone by then, down the shower drain. Only his short black hair remained, partly hidden by the black bandana wrapped around his forehead. The persona of Mark Lee was gone- rather, a skinny 18 year old waved side from side, fiddling with his hands and the ripped hem of the black t-shirt he wore. “What do you think?”

 

If Mark had turned his head slightly to the wall angled behind him, he would have met eyes with a photo of five year old him. The similarities between the two were shocking. 

 

“Marky,” It was all his mom could say, stepping towards him and swinging both arms around his neck. He smelt like aftershave and the black paint under his eyes. His eyes were wide and bright, a spark lingering behind the deep brown. “Are you going to the game, sweetie?”

 

“Yeah, Jaemin should be picking me up in a few.” He grabbed at his phone from his pocket, checking the time and eyeing his lock screen- a photo of him and Jisung Han after his first Grammy. His eyes were bloodshot in the photo and he could feel the tightness of the sweater he was forced to wear that night through the screen. He would’ve changed it had he had anything to change it to.

 

“Jaemin Na?” His mom asked, pulling back and straightening his shirt up. Mark nodded quickly, lighting up slightly as a familiar name appeared on the screen.

 

“Mom, I have to go. I love you,”. He pecked a quick kiss to her cheek, scrambling to the front door as quick as he could. His mom only waved, smiling slightly and blowing kisses. 

 

“Mark Lee!” Jaemin turned the music down slightly as the other boy slid into the minivan from the back door. “Looking good!” 

 

Mark pushed the tattered, red blanket away from his seat, plopping his butt down and clicking the seat belt before he looked up. Jaemin wore a black t-shirt, fitting with his sharp, brown waved hair. His smile was as flawless as ever. 

 

“Hey, Mark,”. Renjun didn’t look up from his phone, quickly typing away before throwing a hand back in a wave. He too was decked in all black. In the past week, it was the first Mark hadn’t seen Renjun in a collared shirt and vest.

 

“Injun! Look at Mark!” Jaemin took his hand away from the wheel, smacking at the petite boy’s side until Renjun sat up, peeling his eyes away from the screen. With a sharp turn around, he locked eyes with Mark.

 

“Oh.” His face broke from its normally composed form into a soft smile. “You look normal?”

 

“Do I?” Mark looked down at the black basketball shorts and t-shirt combo. “I didn’t have any shorts, I had to borrow these from Jeno and the shirt is like expensive and I didn’t know if it fit high school football games- I-“

 

“You look good.” Renjun interrupted. “Take the compliment.”

 

“Be nice, Injun.” Jaemin gave a gentle slap, returning his hand to the radio and giving the dial a hard spin right. 

 

Nothing in Ashton Knolls was far from each other, even in a minivan driven by Jaemin Na who insisted on changing the radio station every time the song changed (four times in total, approximately with only five minutes spent in the back of the minivan). 

 

The navy blue, beat up van pulled into the senior lot effortless, managing to avoid running over the group of skinny girls face painting each other in the spot next door. The anger on their faces fell as they saw Mark, though, and their most charming smiles overtook their faces.

 

It was customary that the seniors stood in the front of the fan section. The first row, leaning right over the black top, was there’s, as Jaemin had explained. The game was due to start any minute- the other team lined their side of the field while stretching their leg muscles in the flashy green uniforms. 

 

Something hit Mark in the back of his head. “Ow,”. 

 

A large, umbrella shape object stared down at him from maybe a row up. Dark, obviously fake green eyes shimmered slightly, wavering in the dusk sky, while the owner of the eyes had bright pink hair. His own face stared back at him. Well, a version of him.

 

“Hey? What’s that?” He jabbed a finger into the head, feeling cardboard at the tip of his skin. There wasn’t a pore to be seen on the blown up image of his face: Mark wasn’t sure how people recognized him now when he was far from the flawless person on screen.

 

“That’s a Fathead. We have them for the seniors on the team, and I guess our favorite little singer.” Jaemin pulled at the head, flicking the printed eye before turning back to Mark. 

 

“I’m not that famous, I’m not-“. Mark started. Sure, he was small town famous. He’d met Kim Kardashian (she was short) and he’d seen A-List celebrities in various states at various different afterparties, but Mark wasn’t one of them. 

 

“Shut it, Marky. Tell it to your Grammys.” Renjun snapped, grabbing the fathead from whoever held it and waved it around slightly. Mark took a play punch at his face.

 

“Hey, Mark, did they ask you to sing the National Anthem?” Jaemin asked from the other side of Renjun. They were all standing, with Renjun the shortest between the two, making it easy for the two to lock eyes over his forehead.

 

“No, uh, what?”

 

Music took over, interrupting the thought. It didn’t take Mark long to realize the bass booming throughout the stadium was his own beat, a melody crafted at song dingy studio in the back corners of LA. That night had been one of his better nights.

 

An inflatable tunnel lined the side of the field, right near the entrance, slowly but surely leaking smoke from the covered ends. The music blared and blared, with newly added siren horns adding to the mix, before finally, a stream of teenage boys in the shiny blue jerseys sprinted out from the tube.

 

A tall, skinny figure that Mark immediately recognized as Jeno led the way. A ‘Park’ and a ‘Wong’ans a ‘Zhong’ followed closely behind, the rest of the team not far behind.

 

“Hello students, teachers, faculty, and families to our first Friday night football game here at Ashton Knoll! Please stand and remove all head gear for our National Anthem!” The crackle of Doyoung’s voice hit through the speaker, with Mark removing his bandana and placing his right hand over his heart. Should he have been offended he wasn’t asked to sing? 

 

“Oooooooohhhh, say can you see-“

 

The voice struck through Mark’s windpipe, like water cracking through ice, a rush of feeling rushing through his chest to the point where it felt tight and like he could breathe for the first time again. It was as if Mark had been stuck under water and for the first time he could see correctly. 

 

He saw him.

 

A small, doe like boy stood in the middle of the field where the team had just run through. Soft caramel hair flared in the night's breeze. He wore black, like every other student there, decked out in black, ripped jeans with the hint of fishnets poking through. An oversized black sweater slid off his shoulders.

 

Mark didn’t hear the rest of the song, the rest of the crystal clear voice that seemed to shake him. He didn’t remember to start clapping until Jaemin and Renjun were rattling his sides. Instinctively, his hands smacked together. 

 

“What? Grammy boy?” Renjun pressed into Mark, his glittery eyes scanning over Mark’s facial expression and the tightness of his jaw.

 

“Who is that?” His pulse throbbed through his ears and his words came out more as a gasp. His eyes were glued to the boy leaving the field, approaching the fan section in a steady strut.

 

“That’s Donghyuck Lee.”

 

Donghyuck raised his big, glossy brown eyes up ever so slightly. Mark and Donghyuck’s eyes met, the first time, and Mark felt his chest construct around his pulsing heart. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, but he knew that all of a sudden nothing else mattered.


	4. four!

It happens somewhere between the first and second quarter. Maybe Jaemin pumped into him a bit too hard to cheer when they nearly crossed the 50th yard line, or maybe Renjun leaned too close to point to where the ball had stumbled too. Mark was not sure when or where it happened, he was just sure that his hands had lost all bit of coordination. They felt slippery as he tried to push his way through the crowd. There was a lump in his throat. It felt as if his brain was fuzzy. Unable to concentrate on anything, anyone’s voice. Whoever was on the bleacher behind him was too close. Everything felt like a weight pushing down on his chest- and soon- Mark was going to explode.

 

He didn’t think Renjun or Jaemin noticed. It was ok if they didn’t: the game was interesting. If they had called after him he wouldn’t have heard: the only sound in his ear was his heart beat. He was lost in the sea of black. Every shoulder he pushed through looked the same, the sea of students seemingly endless as his gasped, pushing each and everyone out of the way. When he finally found the end, he fell forward into a sprint. 

 

Mark hadn’t been to the football field since he was young, but the lay out of the school and the snack shack was still the same. It was easy to find his way to the ecology pond behind the school. 

 

The thing about small towns is that they didn’t change. The scenery, the politics, and the faces all remained the same- season after season. The pond was no exception- the only difference six years later was the bench added for some guy’s Eagle Scout project.

 

It was easy to collapse into. Mark was sure a splinter had probably entered through his shorts, but at this point in time, that fact was that didn’t cross his mind. All he focused on was the shaking in his fingers- the digging numbness passing through his veins as he tried to calm his breathing.

 

He was angry. Angry in a way that built in his throat, pulsing through every artery, vein, and capillary in his body- his shoulders tensed, while fire climbed its way through his core, ripping the intricate threading of organs to pieces- consuming him. He could go after anybody right the -his eyes are narrowed, his breath is heavy, and he’s waiting for someone to make the wrong move in his direction. It was embarrassing. Not being able to control it, like this. He tried to count to ten in his head.

 

It was ok.

 

He was ok.

 

He was still breathing heavy and holding his head in his hands when the footsteps approached. Mark didn’t hear the crack of the twigs as someone approached from behind. Mark didn’t see the small pout forming on the other boy’s lips. Mark didn’t even notice the other boy’s prescience until he was standing directly in front of him with his arms crossed.

 

“That’s my seat.” The voice was high pitched. Self righteous. Mark pictured the person as having their nose up in the air, though his eyes were still buried in his palms. 

 

“Uh, er, sorry.” Mark rubbed his eyes once and removed his hands. Still slouched over, he gazed over the skinny black jeans in front of him. “I just- I just wanted some quiet.”

 

“You’re at a football game.” The voice preached. Mark held back the urge to roll his eyes at such a statement. 

 

“So are you!” He spat back, lifting his eyes to make eye contact with the biggest, brownest most childlike eyes he had ever met. The eyes were filled with a glint that Mark couldn’t put a finger on. Soft brown curls fell down Donghyuck’s face- framing his golden skin quite nicely. “Oh, um- I’m Mark Lee.” 

 

“Donghyuck. And you’re still sitting in my seat.” Donghyuck pointed to the middle of the bench where the Mark sized ball was sitting. With a huff, Mark dragged himself to the far side of the bench and watched in amusement as Donghyuck plopped down besides him. He wasn’t conscious about the amount of space he had consumed- he spread all four limbs out like a starfish and shook his head side to side as he if had been through the worst day of his life.

 

“Why aren’t you at the football game?” Mark asked, trying his best to push away from the sprawling hand edging towards him. 

 

“Why aren’t you?” Donghyuck closed his eyes and pushed his head back as if the wooden bench was comforting or soft.

 

The silence consumed them the same way the dark licked up the red and orange sky. At first it felt normal, but then it was too obvious. Mark wondered if it was a comfortable silence or an awkward one- he was never too confident with those kinds of things. So he cleared his throat. “I liked your singing.”

 

“You’re only saying that so I can compliment your rapping back.” Donghyuck peeled his eyes open, shooting a side eye in Mark’s direction before resting both of his hands atop his stomach. “You’re okay.”

 

“That’s not true!” Mark was mortified at the accusation. It wasn’t as if he introduced himself as Mark Lee the rapper. Maybe he would’ve if this was LA- but this wasn’t. And the boy with him apparently wasn’t one of the skinny blond girls that seemed to swamp the place. “I really like your voice- I heard you on Monday in the hallway and I thought it was like in The Little Mermaid-“

 

“Woah, no need to tell me your life story.” Donghyuck said it with a snap, but he shot a smile in Mark’s direction that made Mark’s heart twitch inside his chest cavity. Donghyuck’s movements were quick and sharp, rising to sit up and pull Mark’s phone out of his hands while simultaneously popping a bubblegum bubble. “For another time.”

 

“Another time?” Mark leaned back as he watched Donghyuck carelessly tap his fingers into the screen. The fluffy haired boy’s eyes were scrunched in concentration- his lips forming a circular pout as he stared into the screen. 

 

“You know,”. Donghyuck underhanded the phone back to Mark, standing up and tucking his hands into his back pockets. “For an A-List rapper, you should actually have a password on your phone.”

 

“I’d forget it.” Mark mumbled, letting him sink into himself as he tucked his knees to his chest. It’s a lie- one that causes him more harm that Donghyuck. The lie slips right past his lips into his chest, twisting and embedding itself like a knife. His phone password used to be ‘Jisung’: he had changed it when he realized Jisung’s password was his own birthday.

 

“It’s Hyuck now. Don’t forget it.” There was a spot where the edge of the lake, the woods, and the dark sky merged to single spot- the spot where Donghyuck’s figure disappeared behind. Mark strained his eyes to focus as much as he could, but he couldn’t tell if he was imagining the small figure or was actually seeing it.


	5. Chapter 5

The ride home was a blur. Jaemin Na’s windows were down, Renjun blasting some pop love song that was a big hit a few years back over the speaker. With his head stuck outside the window, hair flying as much as it could in the breeze, Mark Lee sung along to the song he had always hated, screaming mindlessly into the wind.

 

Mark Lee had never written a love song in his life- he had written hate songs, fuck songs, workout songs, and songs about pain, but never in his life had he sat in the back seat of a pimped out minivan, strumming his fingers along invisible strings, humming out a melody with a certain face in mind. The bridge was the first part to figure out, the easiest part when it came to songwriting for Mark- the bridge was always the quick lap of feelings, the race of his heart. Mark was not lacking that feeling.

 

“You having fun there, Mark?” Jaemin shot him a glance from his side mirror, pressing into his turn signal and yanking the poor van through a sharp turn. If Mark’s head hadn’t been completely out the window, he would have rammed it into the glass or the door. It was out the window, however, and he only received a nudge. “Whoops, sorry.”

 

It didn’t really matter though, Mark was too lost in thought to care about the swing of the car or the obnoxious, nasally voice on the speaker. When the song changed to one he knew very well, one that he hadn’t sung or rapped to in months, he didn’t even blink. For the first time in months, Jisung Han’s head wasn’t the one Mark thought about when the chorus hit. Mark didn’t even notice when the van came to a sudden halt. He hadn’t noticed the silver diner come into view, nor had he noticed when Jaemin and Renjun got out of the car.

 

“You coming?”

 

“Uh, yeah, uh.” Mark threw his head back into the car, and slid open the back door of the van, joining the other two in the parking lot. “Is everyone else coming?” The parking lot was surprisingly busy for the time. Mrk didn’t recognize any of the other faces, but he noticed everyone was around their age.

 

“Jeno, Jisung, and Chenle are already here- come on, come on, let’s go.” Jaemin was clapping like he was hearing the other two into the restaurant, to which Renjun responded by shoving him.

 

The inside of Taeyong’s was sweet smelling, like freshly baked pancakes and pies. The floors were black-and-white tile, like one of the studios Mark had worked in the past year. Red booths were filled three-to-five across with teenagers, and everyone was smiling and shaking hands at the single touchdown scored. Everyone wore black, but not a single person looked as good as Donghyuck.

 

Jaemin and Jeno spotted each other across the small room, and the three boys swamped in the direction of the corner booth. “Hello everybody!” Jeno waved both his arms over his head, crouching in the booth so he knees were bumping against the table. “Welcome to the Knight’s territory!” Chenle whooped before ducking his head in a laugh, while Jisung buried his head in his hands with a soft blush spreading across his face.

 

“Roll Knights!” Jaemin bowed dramatically, his head almost hitting the table, before he launched up and slid into the spot beside Jeno. Renjun slipped in behind him, nodding his head in acknowledgment, till only Mark stood outside of the booth. His skin pricked with the gaze of his friend’s eyes on him. Jeno’s smile still stood, stretched across his face and consuming his eyes with it.

 

“Uh, go team?”

The boys accepted it graciously, patting Mark on the back as he climbed into join them. Renjun didn’t lift his head from his phone, but rather he scooted a bit closer to Jaemin. “Did you see the other team’s captain?” Chenle whisper-squealed to Jaemin, leaning his head across Jeno’s chest as if it could conceal his identity.

 

“No, why?” Jaemin fake whispered back, leaning across Jeno as well to the point where the boys were almost face-to-face.

 

“He was… yummy.” Chenle licked his lips before he returned to his spot, grabbing Jisung’s hand and swinging it gently. “I even noticed Jeno looking…” With that, all eyes were on Jeno. In that moment, Mark was sure he wasn’t the only one who had managed to get a sour taste in his mouth from Jeno’s girlfriend. The girl where no where in sight, even right now. “I swear to god, I have a very good gaydar.” Chenle announced.

 

Renjun snorted, lifting his head from his phone at last and placing it facedown on the table. “You think any girl that doesn’t want to fuck you is lesbian.” As always, his tone was not edging on the rude side, rather on the completely neutral side. His face was calm, but his eyes had a playful gloss in them

 

“No! See, for example, Mark here-“ Chenle had begun, before he was cut off by the waitress- an older looking woman with smile lines engraved into her face. Mark exhaled, sharply, feeling his chest deflate and his body sink a few inches into the chair. When he looked up, he could see Jeno playing with his plump bottom lip, his eyebrows wrinkled in distress.

 

“Hello honeys, welcome to Taeyong’s. I will be your server today, Nancy, if that’s alright, okay?” She eyed the boys enthusiastically, nodding her head in response to her own question. “Can I get you guys anything to eat, drink, anything at all, honeys?”

 

Jeno, from his spot elevated above all the others, cleared his throat and rested two hands on the table. “I would like the supreme combo please with green apple Gatorade. The best flavor.” He cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Jaemin, waiting for a response. Nancy was busy doodling down his order, humming the Dolly Parton song playing under his breath.

 

“Can I just have a slice of coconut cream pie- but the vegan version, please. And coffee- no cream no sugar. Please.” Jaemin rested his hands on table and tried to tuck his head into Jeno, missing slightly due to Jeno’s height. He held his head there awkwardly, pressing into Jeno’s stomach.

 

“And you, sweets?”

 

Nancy had motioned to Jisung and Chenle, who had resorted to hitting the forks with the palms of their hands and watching them flip. Everytime a fork launched itself in the air, Jisung cowered behind Chenle, who seemed to take it as a compliment. “Guys.” Jaemin snatched away the forks, scowling them with his eyes still creased in happiness.

 

“Uh, nothing please. Just water.” Jisung smiled at the waitress before dropping his head. “Excuse me, I have to go to the restroom.” He shoved his way over the others, past Nancy, and in the direction of the back of the dinner, leaving Chenle and Mark to order. Chenle’s order was probably only one word long, but he talked for a minute about whatever he was getting. When it was Mark’s turn, he hadn’t even looked at the menu: he just said two of whatever Chenle had gotten, before getting up in the direction Jisung had followed.

 

He’d almost forgotten about Renjun, he had forgotten about him. Renjun was spewing off his order right next to him, while Mark was shoving through high school kids and waiters and stacks of food taller than him. Mark was skinny, he’d always been skinny, but he’d never been Jisung skinny. He’d never seen pants slide down someone's waist the way Jisung’s did. He wasn’t even sure if he’d ever seen Jisung eat, now, in his racing head.

 

The bathroom was empty except for the two. Jisung was looking at himself in the mirror, leaning in and brushing his blonde hair out of his face while admiring a newly formed bruise on his cheek. He was almost squatting in the mirror to admire himself. “Jisung.” Mark wasn’t sure if he’d said those words in months, if he’d let himself. But here he was, chasing after another Jisung. “Why aren’t you eating?”

 

“Er.”

 

“Please tell me you’re not starving yourself.” Mark snapped, a course of anger slipping through his system and consuming him ever so slightly. He scanned Jisung’s face over once again, looking for the signs of sunken in cheeks and dull skin. Jisung didn’t seem to be either, just tiny. “Please.”

 

“I’m not starving myself.” Jisung nodded, extending one of his long fingers in his hands and taking an interest in the shape of the nail, rolling over his hands and flexing his fingers back and forth. “I’m not Jeno, though, and I’m not Jaemin and I’m not Renjun. My parents don’t have the type of money for me to go out whenever and I’m not even old enough to work yet.”

 

“You’re not 18?”

 

“I’m 16. My parents put me in school early to save money on daycare. My mom- she got some degree that didn’t mean much and doesn’t make money and my dad and her try really hard and we’re not poor and I’m not neglected and don’t think that, please, but like there’s not enough money to buy brand new cars and new wardrobes and like they have to save like months in advance but I’m safe and I’m sound and everything is good, I just can’t do all the dumb stuff with money. And that’s cool and all- like I think it’s possible to have fun without spending money but sometimes it gets hard and-” Jisung had talked himself out of breath and into a sweat, his face flushed as he let out a huff and straightened up. “Mark, I like you and think you’re a cool dude and you’re down for whatever which is fun because sometimes Chenle is too wild and sometimes Jaemin is too serious and you’re like a good mix, but not everyone gets money every time they post on instagram and they don’t get money every time their album is played.”

 

Mark’s therapist once told him that pain is relative. One of the poetry books he read by himself in the darkness of his room (no one could know he owned a copy of MIlk and Honey) told him that Jisung’s pain didn’t make his pain invalid. But out of the two boys, one was still breathing and Mark wasn’t even sure when he had become so hollow. He wasn’t sure when Jisung had left the bathroom, but he followed him, and when they returned there was mountains of pancakes and drinks on the table.

 

Jaemin was drinking his coffee with a reusable straw, eyeing the way Jeno was shoving what looked like a pancake sandwich with sausage in the middle into his mouth. Renjun was slicing a sandwich into mini squares, while Chenle was busy flipping forks still. Not much was said when Jisung took Mark’s extra pancake platter, for which Mark was forever gracious.

 

The gratitude continued when he checked his phone and had a single text.

 

**hyuck: goodnight superstar.**


End file.
